Chapter 5

Striking evidence of the growing French industrial independence of Germany is her advance in crucible making. For years Sèvres vied with Limoges for ceramic honours. To-day the vast plant which once produced the most exquisite and delicate ware in the world is now producing the less lovely but more serviceable crucibles, condensers and retorts necessary for the distillation of the powerful acid used in modern high explosives. Previous to the war, the Central Empire had a monopoly on this market. Indeed, much of the pottery and glassware used in laboratories and chemical factories was made in Bohemia and marketed by Germany. Now the Sèvres plant is shipping these goods to England and Russia.

So, too, with dye stuffs. A whole new French colouring industry is being created. A Société d'Etude has been formed to make a scientific survey and this will be replaced by a National Company to undertake the manufacture of all coal tar products.

The use of a certain number of new war factories has been guaranteed to the company by the Minister of War. Typical of the purpose which will animate the enterprise is one of the articles of the National Company which provides that the Director of the Dye Stuff Industry must be of French birth. An agreement has also been made with England and Italy to protect the colour output of the three countries with a high tariff after the war. Here you find one tangible evidence of the working out of the Paris Economic Pact.

Even while the invader's hand still lies heavy upon the land, France looks ahead to reconstruction. Last summer Paris flocked to a graphic exhibition of how to rebuild a destroyed city. It was called La Cité Réconstitué, and was held in the Tuileries Garden. Here you could see the modern way of making a Phoenix rise quickly out of the ashes. There were model schoolhouses, churches, factories, and cottages, all with standardised parts which could be thrown together in an almost incredibly short time.

With Self-Sufficiency has come a desire for new business knowledge. Not long ago an American business man who has lived in Paris for many years, received a letter from a young French friend in the trenches at Verdun. The soldier wrote:

"I realise that when this war is over we must be better equipped than ever before to meet world business competition. I want to be a better salesman. Please send me some books on American salesmanship and also some of the American trade papers. I have begun the study of Spanish because I believe we are going to have our part in the Latin-American trade." Here was a young Frenchman risking his life every moment in one of the greatest battles the world has ever known: yet in the midst of death he was looking forward to a new business life.

The whole attitude of the Frenchman toward life has undergone a change, first under the stress of ruthless war, and under the spur of his kindling desire for rehabilitation. Formerly, for example, the French loathed to travel. When he knew he was going away on a journey, he spent a month telling his relatives good-bye. Now he packs his bag and is off in an hour to Lyon, Marseilles, Bordeaux, or any other place where business might dictate.

The new and efficient French industrial machine is not the only factor that American business in France must reckon with after the war. The French woman is fast becoming a force, thus setting up an altogether unequal and almost unfair competition, because to shrewd wit and resource is added the power of sex and beauty.

In France, as most people know, the woman exerts an enormous influence, regardless of her social class. In all regulated bourgeois families the wife holds the purse strings; in the small shops she keeps the cash and runs things generally. No average Frenchman would think of embarking on any sort of enterprise without first talking it over with his _femme_, who is also his partner. This team work lies at the root of all French thrift.

The woman of the lower class has met the grim emergency of war with sacrifice and courage. Not only has she faced the loss of those most dear with uncomplaining lips, but she has taken her man's place everywhere. You can see her standing Amazon-like in leather apron pouring molten metal in the shell factory; she drives you in a cab or a taxi; she runs the train and takes the tickets in the Underground: in short, she has become a whole new asset in the human wealth of the nation and as such she will help to make up for the inevitable shortage of men.

Her sister of the upper class, at once the most practical and most feminine of her sex, is also doing her bit. She is the lovely thorn in the path of the American business promoter in France.

Before the war, it was rare to find this type of woman competing with men in outside business affairs, although her influence has always counted immensely in official life where she pulls the strings to get husband or lover Government preferment or concession.

Since the war, however, necessity has sharply developed her latent business qualities. Now it is not unusual to find her in direct competition, using all those delightful charms with which Nature has endowed her. This is especially true of widows and women whose husbands are at the front. They often rely more upon persuasion than upon any technical or practical knowledge. One reason why they succeed is their almost uncanny knowledge of men. And this often enables them to grasp swiftly the clue that business opportunity offers.

One night at dinner a Colonel's widow, a gracious and beguiling lady, heard that the French Government was in the market for 50,000 head of cattle. The next morning she sent half a dozen cables to South America, got options, and in three days her formal bid was at the War Office. Within a week she had the contract.

I know of a case of the wife of a Colonel at the front, who heard one day at lunch that the War Office needed 50,000 sacks of flour for the army at Saloniki. That same day she put the matter before some American brokers in Paris, who wired to their New York firm and received the usual American reply: "Am not interested in the French trade now. Will wait until after the war."

With the utmost difficulty the woman was able to secure 10,000 sacks by way of Italy and Switzerland. She is not likely to seek American sources of supply soon again.

An American got a tip one day that a certain contract for machine tools was available. He had an appointment for lunch, so he said to himself: "Why hurry? These French people are slow. I'll get busy this afternoon or to-morrow."

When he went to the establishment in question the next day, he found that an exquisitely gowned woman had just preceded him; indeed, the fragrance of the perfume she used still hovered about the outer office. The man cooled his heels for half an hour when the lovely feminine vision flashed by him going out. He started to make his selling talk to the Purchasing Agent, who said, at the first opening:

"I am extremely sorry, Monsieur, but we have just closed the contract with Madam Blank who left a few moments ago."

The New France has brought forth a New Woman!

Through all the organised approach to Self-Sufficiency and Economic Rehabilitation, France has not lost sight of her grudge against the Germans. Indeed, no phase of her business life to-day is more picturesque than the campaign now in full swing not only against Teutonic trade, but against any resumption of commercial relation with the hated enemy across the Rhine. Right here you get a striking difference between English and French methods. While Britain takes out some of her enmity against German trade in eloquent conversation, France has gone about it in a practical way, shot through with all the colour and imagination that only the French could employ upon such procedure.

Preliminary to this campaign was a characteristic episode. Almost with the flareup of war, the French mind turned sentimentally to those fateful early Seventies when Germany in the flush of her great victory seized the fruits of that triumph. Some of those fruits were embodied in the famous Treaty of Frankfort in which the Teuton clamped the mailed fist down on every favoured French trade relation.

The war automatically annulled this treaty, and although the nation was in the first throes of a struggle that threatened existence, it celebrated the revocation in characteristic fashion. Millions of copies of the Frankfort Treaty were printed and sold on the streets of Paris and elsewhere. The excited Frenchman rushed up and down brandishing his copy and saying: "Now we will ram this treaty down the throat of the Boche!"

This emotional prelude was now followed by a definite crusade for the elimination of German goods. Anti-German societies were formed all over the country. Backing these up are dozens of other formidable organisations, such as Chambers of Commerce and Business Clubs. Typical of the campaign is the formation of a Buyers' League which is intended to assemble all persons who will take a resolution never to buy a German product and be satisfied for the remainder of their lives with the French manufactured article.

Wherever you go in France, you find some concrete and striking evidence of the Anti-German wave. When you get a bundle from a Paris shop, you are likely to find stuck on it a brilliantly coloured stamp showing a pair of bloody hands holding a number of packages, the largest one labeled "made in Germany." Under it is the sentence in French reading: "Frenchmen, do not buy German products. The hands that made are reddened with the blood of our soldiers."

There is great variety in these stamps, which are used on letters and packages. One of the most popular shows a helmeted German with a brutal face holding a smiling mask before his visage. In one hand he holds a bundle marked "Made in Germany." On this stamp is the inscription: "Mistrust their smiles--in every German there is a spy."

Still another and equally popular stamp pictures a soldier with bandaged head standing by a prostrate comrade and pointing to a fleeing German. The inscription reads: "We chase the Germans during the war. You, civilians, will you allow them to return after peace?"

One stamp used much throughout the Provincial French cities shows a woman in deep mourning weeping over a grave marked with a cross surmounted by a red soldier cap. The woman is supposed to be saying these words: "French people, buy no more German products. Remember this grave."

A companion stamp shows a figure representing the French Republic and holding the tri-colour. The flag is attached to a spear with which she is piercing the breast of a German eagle on the ground. At her side is the national bird of France, the Cock, crowing triumphantly. Underneath are the words: "Refuse all German products."

Similar in idea is another dramatic conception showing a white robed female figure holding a battle axe in one hand and pointing with the other to a burning cathedral. Her words are: "Frenchmen, do not consume any German products. Remember 1914."

Most of the large French cities have their own Anti-German stamps which are enlarged and used on billboards as posters. A typical city stamp is that of Lyon, which shows a Cock in brilliant colours standing proudly in the red and blue rays of a white sun. Attached is the legend: "National League of Defence of French Interests--The Anti-German League: Buy French Products."

The City of Marseilles has a stamp showing the French Cock standing on a German helmet surrounded by the words "Anti-German League." Elsewhere on the stamp is the inscription: "No more of the people--No more German products."

Whether the Frenchman buys or sells, he has poked under his nose or flaunted before his eyes every hour of the business day some concrete evidence that his country has put the German people and their products under the ban.

In connection with this campaign are some facts of utmost significance to the American business man who has studied the intent and purpose of the Paris Economic Pact which is described in a previous chapter, and which declared for an Allied war of economic reprisal against Germany and the other Central Powers. In that chapter, as you may recall, the point was made that since individuals and not nations do business, the Pact was likely to fail.

With their usual intelligence, the French understand this, and their whole educational campaign at home is to make the individual Frenchman immune against the lure of the cheap German products. The French know that it is the sum of individual French resistance to German buying that will keep the German product forever outside the realm of the Republic.

Indeed, the clearest-minded men in France to-day believe that more commercial advantage will accrue to France by the intensive development of her resources, the perfection of old industries and the creation of new ones than in the formation of committees devoted to plans for commercial alliances dedicated to reprisal. In other words, this helps to bear out the theory held in many quarters that the economic pact is after all merely a campaign document and utterly impracticable.

In France there are other signs that point to a rift in the Pact. While I was in Paris, a well known Senator pointed out that as soon as the war ended France would need coal and would look to Italy for it as she had done in the past. To obtain her coal more cheaply than she is now doing from the United States or England, Italy would very likely make concessions to Germany in order to obtain German fuel. The result would be an interchange of merchandise between the two countries regardless of the decree of the Paris Pact. The question arises: Could France place restrictions upon the Italian frontier to the annoyance of her Allies?

Meanwhile France is seeking immunity from any future coal crisis by developing a system of hydraulic power which will not only be economical, but will also help to cut down her imports. It is just one more phase of the ever-widening programme of Self-Sufficiency.

Despite our past blunders, our present lack of organised initiative, and the efforts toward Self-Supply, the future holds a large business opportunity for America in France. As a matter of fact, half of the selling work is already registered because the French are eager and anxious to do business with their great sister democracy across the sea. It is, therefore, up to the American exporter to capitalise the needs of the nation and the good will that it bears toward us. But it must be done now.

For one thing, it cannot be achieved without constructive co-operative work. Groups of exporters must organise and establish offices in Paris and elsewhere in France. The reason for this is that the Frenchman abhors the fly-by-night salesman: he likes to feel that the man with whom he is trading has taken some sort of root in his midst.

With organisation must come knowledge. Why did the Germans succeed so amazingly in France? Geographical proximity and the Frankfort Treaty helped some, but the principal selling power he wielded was that he lived with his clients, found out what they wanted, and gave it to them. If a French farmer, for example, wanted a purple plough share fastened to a yellow body, the German assumed that he knew what he wanted and made it for him. The average American exporter, on the other hand, has always assumed that the foreign customer had to take what was given to him. For this reason we have failed in South America and for this reason we will fail in France unless we change our methods. Knowledge is selling power.

We must be prepared to give the French long credits, and if necessary, finance French enterprises. Despite her immense gold hoardings, she may feel an economic pinch after the war. We must also have sound and organised French credit information.

Our salesmen must know the French language and sympathise with the French temperament. Give the French buyer a ghost of a chance and he will meet you more than half way. Unlike the stolid Englishman he is plastic, adaptable and imaginative. Understanding is a large part of the trade battle.

We must accumulate large stocks of American goods in France to indulge the purchaser in his favourite occupation of long and elaborate choosing and to meet demands for renewal. To ship these goods we must have our own bottoms. Here, as elsewhere in the whole export outlook, is the old need of a merchant marine.

But we will never realise our trade destiny in France without reciprocity. We cannot sell without buying. France looks to us to take part of the huge flood of goods that once went to Germany. We take some of her wine: we must take more. We buy her silks and frocks: the American market for them must now be widened. We depended upon Germany for many of our toys: France expects the Anglo-Saxon nursery henceforth to rattle with the mechanical devices which will provide meat and drink for her maimed soldiers. And so on down a long list of commodities.

All this means that before the mood cools we must conclude new commercial treaties with France and assure for ourselves a really favoured nation relation that carries the guarantee of a permanent foreign trade now so necessary to our permanent prosperity.

In the last analysis you will find that it is France and not England to whom we must look for the larger commercial kinship after the war. The spirit of the awakened Britain, so far as we are concerned, is the spirit of militant trade conquest: the dominant desire of the speeded-up France is benevolent Self-Sufficiency.

Whether England realises her vast dream remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: No man can watch France in the supreme Test of War without catching the thrill of her heroic endeavour, or feeling the influence of that immense and unconquerable serenity with which she has faced Triumph and Disaster. They proclaim the deathlessness of her democracy, the hope of a new world leadership in art and craft.

She will be a worthy trade ally.

V--_Saving for Victory_

By making patriotism profitable, England has enlisted an Army of Savers and launched the greatest of all Campaigns of Conservation. No contrast in the greatest of all conflicts is so marked as this flowering of thrift amid the ruins of a mighty extravagance. The story of Britain's "Economy First" campaign is a chapter of regeneration through destruction that is full of interest and significance for every man, woman, and child in the United States. Through self-denial a complete revolution in national habits has begun. Out of colossal evil has come some good.

It has taken a desperate disease to invoke a desperate remedy. The average American, firm in his belief that he holds a monopoly on world waste, has had, almost without his knowledge, a formidable rival in England these past years. Whether the visiting Yankee tourist helped to set the pace or not, the fact remains that when the war broke over England she was as extravagant as she was unprepared.

The Englishman, like his American brother, though unlike the Scotch, is not thrifty by instinct. He regards thrift as a vice. He prefers to let the tax gatherer do his saving for him. He believes with his great compatriot Gladstone that "it is more difficult to save a shilling than to spend a million."

Contrasting the Englishman and the Frenchman in the matter of economy, you find this interesting parallel: With the Frenchman the first question that attends income is "How much can I _save_?" Saving is the supreme thing. With the Briton, however, it becomes a matter of "How much can I _spend_?" Saving is incidental.

To associate thrift with the British workingman is to conceive a miracle. To be sure, he seldom had anything to save before the war. But with the speeding-up of industry to meet the insatiate hunger for munitions and the corresponding increase of from thirty to fifty per cent, even more, in wages, he suddenly began to revel in a wealth that he never dreamed was possible. The more he made the more he spent. He squandered his financial substance on fine cigars, expensive clothes, and excessive drinks, while his wife bedecked herself in gaudy finery and installed pianos or phonographs in her house. No one thought of To-morrow.

Just as it took the shock of a long succession of military reverses to rouse the English mind to the consciousness that the war would be long and bitter, so did the abuse of all this temporary and inflated war time prosperity bring to far-seeing men throughout England the realisation that the British people, and more especially those who worked with their hands, were booked for serious social and economic trouble when peace came, unless they saw the error of their wasteful ways.

"What can we do to stem this tide of extravagance and at the same time plant the seed of permanent thrift," asked these men who ranged from Premier to Prelate. No one knew better than they the difficulties of the task before them. In England, as in America, thrift is more regarded as a vice than a virtue. Like the taste for olives it is an acquired thing. To spend, not to save, is the instinct of the race.

But there were other and equally serious reasons why all England should buck up financially and make every penny do more than its duty. First and foremost was the terrific cost of the war that every day took its toll of $25,000,000; second was the enormous increase in imports and the diminished flow of exports, a reversal of pre-war conditions that meant that England each day was buying $5,000,000 worth of goods more than other countries were purchasing from her; third was the human shrinkage due to the incessant demand of battlefield and factory. Everywhere was colossal expenditure of men and money: nowhere existed check or restraint. Something had to be done.

It was generally admitted that the first thing for everybody to do was to spend less on themselves than in times of peace. When, where and how to save became the great question. To save money at the cost of efficiency for essential and urgent work was not true economy. "But," said the thrift promoters, "waste is possible even in the process of attaining efficiency. For example, people may eat too much as well as too little, they may buy more clothes than they actually need, ride when they could walk, employ a servant when they could do their own work, use their motors when they could travel in a tram."

Thus every class came within the range of the lightning that was about to strike at the root of an ancient evil.

The start was interesting. Before the war was a year old definite order emerged of what was at the beginning a scattered protest against reckless spending. But long before the first organised message of saving went to the home and purse of the worker, the rich began to economise. Here is where you encounter the first of the many ironies and contrasts that mark this whole campaign. The people who could most afford to be extravagant were the first to draw in their horns. This, of course, was not particularly surprising because the rich are naturally thrifty. It is one reason why they get and stay rich.

Among the pioneer organisations was the Women's War Economy League founded and developed by a group of titled women who got hundreds of their sisters to pledge themselves to give up unnecessary entertaining, not to employ men servants unless ineligible for military service, to buy no new motor cars and use their old ones for public or charitable work, to buy as few expensive articles of clothing as possible, to reduce in every way their expenditures on imported goods, and to limit the buying of everything that came under the category of luxuries. Champagne was banned from the dinner table, décolleté gowns disappeared: men substituted black for white waistcoats in the evening.